


the things that don't matter

by mismatched (miscalculated)



Series: the things that [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous Relationships, Bisexuality, Drunk Sex, F/M, Hand Jobs, Heterosexual Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misogyny, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Semi-Public Sex, Sex while Under the Influence, other little couples i wont be mentioning lol, someone makes a suicide joke, that's what all these tags are trying to say, they're not good people ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscalculated/pseuds/mismatched
Summary: “This is the last time I’m ever helping you out,” Jihoon huffs. He’s almost one hundred percent sure his ears are red now, and it’s not because of the heat or the intoxication. “Why did you say that shit in front of the bartender?”Mingyu looks at him again, now with a smirk that makes Jihoon want to fight him in the middle of the bar. He’ll lose, duh, but he’s willing to risk it.“If you want to see Chaeyeon naked, just ask,” Mingyu, the annoying fucker that he is, teases. “You can be the second guy on campus to know what she sounds like when she’s getting fucked.”-Mingyu and Jihoon are best friends. The problem is that Jihoon keeps harping on things that Don't Matter.
Relationships: Jung Chaeyeon/Kim Mingyu, Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: the things that [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707742
Comments: 17
Kudos: 146





	the things that don't matter

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy!
> 
> Before I say anything more: please, please heed the tags. They are nowhere near saints (the misogyny tag is there for a reason), and the tags were meant to explain this. in parts consent isn't explicitly stated, hence the mildly dubious consent tag. i tried to include as much info as possible so you're an informed reader. 
> 
> with that out of the way, this fic was born purely for self-gratification. it is not meant to be the barometer of morality. no lessons to be taught here, folks. except to not be like this, i guess? 
> 
> anyways, enjoy.

Jihoon thinks about a lot of things that don’t matter. It’s his worst habit, and sometimes it drives him crazy. There’s the occasional thoughts about the universities that sent him rejection letters, despite the fact that he’s currently at a university that he loves; and his brain enjoys reminding him of every moment his mom had informed him he was being ambitious applying to entertainment companies (“Aren’t they a little… picky? About who they sign?” she’d said once, and Jihoon has never forgotten it — the incredulous inflection to her voice, the confused pull of her eyebrows, the way she stood by the kitchen island with a cup of tea in one hand). And — yeah — there’s every moment he fumbled his words while giving a presentation, there’s the time he got rejected by a girl in high school and his (ex-)friend told him it was because they were the same height. There’s way too many to recount. 

And. Hah. Jihoon has this one thought that arguably matters the least; a funny little Wow That Party Was Crazy, Huh? memory that he’s so sure everyone has forgotten by now. It was stupid, and it was his freshman year of university, and it was totally a spur of the moment thing that is so insignificant, but Jihoon and his torturous mind, right? 

But, sometimes, when he’s getting ready for bed, or sitting in an especially boring lecture, or eating lunch while his friends chatter about classes he’s not required to take, it comes to him. The party in freshman year, in the basement of some rich kid’s ridiculously big house. He can remember how they were seated near a corner of the room, on the hardwood, closer to drunk than tipsy. Mingyu’s ink black haircut was overgrown to the point that his fringe hung down to his top lip, and he had to keep shoving it back out of his eyes all night. 

Seo-yeon, a mutual friend of theirs, was to his right, Mingyu in front of him, creating a lopsided triangle. And Mingyu was wearing his favorite leather jacket with the silver studs on it, black jeans with holes in the knees, Chelsea boots, beer bottle in hand, looking like he just hopped off his motorcycle and waltzed into the house. “You won’t,” Seo-yeon was saying, shooting a foot out to nudge Mingyu’s shin. “You’re bluffing.” 

Mingyu shoved his fringe out of his eyes again, lips wet and face lightly flushed from the heat and the booze, said emphatically, “I so will. I’ve never lost a fucking bet.” Jihoon was watching them, his own limbs loose from one too many shots, vibrating with every beat that boomed in the rap song playing overhead. 

“Do it, then.” 

And then Mingyu looked at him, gaze heavy on his eyes before flickering down to Jihoon’s mouth. He slid closer to Jihoon, close enough that their legs tangled with one another’s. And — “Easy,” Mingyu said just before he cupped Jihoon’s jaw with his big hand and leaned in. 

Jihoon didn’t have any time to protest even if he wanted to. Mingyu was already licking into his mouth, tasting like beer and something fruity, and Jihoon felt himself kissing back. Realistically, it only lasted maybe thirty seconds to a minute; but in Jihoon’s intoxicated mind, it felt much longer than that. Mingyu trapped him against the wall, big hand still cupping his jaw as their lips slid together, rough and persistent. And Jihoon clung to Mingyu like he'd fall if he let go, arms sliding underneath Mingyu’s and resting on his back, tight grip on the back of Mingyu’s jacket. 

When Mingyu finally pulled back, breaking the kiss, Jihoon remained against the wall, breathless. And he watched as Seo-yeon cheered, slapping some money into Mingyu’s open palm. “See?” Mingyu said, victorious smile on his face. Bet won. 

And. Sometimes, that’s what best friends do, right? A totally silly, forgettable Wow That Party Was Crazy, Huh? memory about two silly boys in their freshman year making silly bets for pizza money. Something that doesn’t matter. 

Sure, they ended up kissing again in a new corner of the basement, sans Seo-yeon, when Mingyu told him that was probably the best kiss Jihoon had ever had and Jihoon insisted that it wasn’t even close. Then, yes, perhaps while they were waiting for the pizza to be delivered to Mingyu’s apartment, they got a little handsy. But it was so insignificant, and Jihoon should totally be over it, but his stupid brain keeps making him remember that one night from two years ago. 

Keeps reminding him. But, it doesn’t matter — truly. It was such a non-issue that they never bothered to talk about it, let alone acknowledge that it happened. They’re best friends. Shit happens, sometimes. 

Shit like sophomore year, when he, Soonyoung, Minghao, Hansol, and Jeonghan were spending the night at Mingyu’s. They got drunk off vodka and soda, ate Chinese takeout, and watched dumb Netflix movies until they fell asleep in the living room. Except Mingyu totally didn’t want to sleep in the living room since he had a perfectly good bed in his room — and Mingyu totally didn’t want to be the odd one out, so Jihoon had to keep him company, right? 

Of course. They’re best friends. 

So Jihoon joined him in his room, carefully stepping over a passed out Minghao and Hansol on the way there, and they’ve always shared a bed when necessary, because that’s what best friends do. And sometimes best friends do stupid things that they can giggle about later, go _wow we were so drunk lol_ in the group chat when they’ve sobered up and gone their separate ways. 

That was what Jihoon told himself the morning after. The morning after Mingyu stripped down to his briefs, looking toned and annoyingly fit because he’s vapid and cares way too much about his appearance; Jihoon was down to his undershirt and boxers, and, well, Jihoon doesn’t want to go back over all the little details. Mingyu said something like, “Yeah, but it gets me laid,” when Jihoon made a quip about his pecs and abs, and while Jihoon rolled his eyes and said, _whatever, dude, I get laid, too_ , Mingyu kept talking. 

Mingyu likes to talk. It’s a fact. So, he said, “Remember Kat? Last time I was at her place she told me it makes her so horny knowing I can just pick her up and do whatever I want to her. We didn’t even make it into her room; I fucked her in the kitchen.”

“Her roommates weren’t home?” Jihoon asked, because Jihoon always asks questions, okay? 

“They were in their rooms,” Mingyu said. “So we had to be quiet. I gagged her with her own shirt.” If Jihoon is honest, the idea of Kat — slender, big-breasted, long-legged Kat — moaning around her balled up shirt turned Jihoon on. A lot. And he could feel his arousal stirring as Mingyu kept talking, setting the scene in excruciating detail. “And I lifted her up onto the counter, right? And she was so eager, dude. I tried to eat her out but she was begging me to just fuck her.” 

“Wow,” was all Jihoon remembered saying. It was all he could supply, honestly, because the thought was short-circuiting any useful parts of his brain. 

“Right,” Mingyu said. Kept fucking talking. “She was so wet... Didn’t even get a chance to put a condom on. I’m clean — promise, I checked — but, yeah. Fucked her right there in the kitchen.” 

The imagery alone was enough to get Jihoon hard. Curse his vivid imagination. Curse Mingyu for looking down and seeing the pitched tent in his boxers, a shit-eating grin on his face when he declared, “Are you hard? That made you hard?” And Jihoon thought he would melt into a puddle of shame and arousal right there in Mingyu’s bed, soiling the sheets with his embarrassment. He tried to argue, tried to insist that it totally wasn’t the story, his dick does stupid stuff sometimes, but Mingyu wasn’t listening. 

“Wow, Jihoon,” Mingyu breathed, sounding resolved and also kinda like a disappointed parent, and before Jihoon could say anything else, Mingyu’s big hand was down his boxers and fisting his dick right there, in the bed, with their friends asleep out in the living room. 

Jihoon didn’t stop him. In fact, he remembers pistoning his hips into Mingyu’s tight grip, trying and failing not to moan out in the open and embarrass himself or wake up his friends or something equally horrible. And Mingyu, not helping at all, quickened his pace, Jihoon’s precum giving his big fucking hand better slip along the thick length of Jihoon’s dick. 

“You don’t have to,” Jihoon was saying despite himself, still rutting up as Mingyu twisted his fist down, his eyes screwed shut and eyebrows pulling close together, sweat dampening his temples. It felt way too good — too much, too fast, the heat deep in his belly spreading out and making his skin burn in it. 

Mingyu didn’t answer him, just kept his pace fast, steady. And how does that quote go? Life imitates art? Art imitates life? Could you even call Mingyu’s verbal porn art? Is that rude for Jihoon to think? Whatever — perhaps life imitates art, because Mingyu whispered, “Are you _trying_ to wake them up?” right before lifting the pillow from underneath his head with his other hand and shoving it into Jihoon’s face. 

Frankly. Honestly. That was enough. It was almost impossible to breathe with Mingyu holding the pillow to his face, but he could moan and whimper into it as much as he wanted, and — and his mind went back to Kat in the kitchen, her own fucking shirt in her fucking mouth, Mingyu’s strong grip forcing her to take what he gave her, her long legs spread wide as he fucked up into her pussy — and every muscle in Jihoon’s body went tight, his thrusts into Mingyu’s fist fell out of rhythm, and he came in thick spurts into Mingyu’s hand, onto Mingyu’s bare chest. 

The details don’t matter. That’s more than enough to ruminate over. What followed was a sleepy haze of Mingyu whining, “You got it on me,” getting up to clean his hand and stomach off, and Jihoon watching up until his eyes closed and he fell fast asleep. 

Another event that they never talked about. But in the morning Jihoon couldn’t stop thinking about it, his sick brain lighting up with arousal at the sight of Mingyu acting completely normal with their other friends. At how he casually cooked them breakfast, laughed at their jokes, rough-housed with Hansol over a joke about Mingyu’s cooking. As if nothing ever happened. As if he never jerked Jihoon off the night prior. 

So stupid, right? 

Jihoon thinks so, too. There were a couple more isolated ‘events’ after the fact, scattered amongst the first half of their second year, but Jihoon doesn’t need to harp on about it. They’re such good friends that they never needed to talk about it — it’s, like, a best friend rite of passage, or something. 

Besides. Mingyu has a girlfriend now, started dating her in the second half of their second year, and they’re very happy and very much in love and Jihoon is happy for them. 

His brain just enjoys reminding him of a lot of things that, again, Don’t Matter. 

* * *

Jung Chaeyeon has to be the prettiest girlfriend Mingyu’s ever had. The prettiest girl on campus, period. She’s an acting and film studies double major, even snagged a few roles on web dramas, which made her, like, a mini-celebrity to all her classmates. And Jihoon has no complaints — she’s very sweet, speaks with a soft-voice and her laughs are like little flutters that melt your heart. And she rivals Mingyu in cooking, honestly; she excels in cakes and sweets, but she’s pretty damn good at meals, too. 

Mingyu met her in the dining hall when a friend of a friend invited him to eat with them. She laughed at his jokes, gave him her number when he asked for it, and that was it — hook, line, and sinker. He couldn’t shut the fuck up about her after the fact, acting like a lovesick puppy whenever he hung out with Jihoon and co. 

“If you like her so much,” Jeonghan snapped once, when they were at his place ‘studying’. “Then why don’t you go hang out with her and stop harassing us?” 

Famous last words. Mingyu started dating the (arguably) prettiest girl on campus, and the rest was history. Their couple Instagram photos could _blind_ you with how beautiful they are. Seeing them together as they walk from building to building is hard enough; they’re like mini-celebrities themselves. The Golden Couple TM. 

Frankly. Honestly. She’s too good for Mingyu. At least, that’s what Jihoon feels. Chaeyeon is, like, an angel, or an unsullied white duvet, or some other flowery metaphor that can describe how pure she is. And Mingyu… well, if the night he talked about fucking long-legged Kat is anything to go by, he’s none of the above. He and Jihoon have had way too many nights getting fucked up, talking about girls in ways that would have had the feminist club burn them alive, and skipping class to do stupid shit with the boys to ever call Mingyu a pure, unsullied angel worthy of Jung Chaeyeon’s affection. But, they’ve been dating for a year and a half at this point, and there’s no way Mingyu can keep up the good guy act for that long; what Chaeyeon sees she likes, and, hey, Jihoon’s happy for them. As previously stated. 

“Good girls like bad boys,” Minghao tells Jihoon with a blasé shrug. They’re in Minghao and Soonyoung’s shared apartment, Minghao frying up some youtiao because Jihoon loves it so much, Jihoon seated at the bar watching him. He should be studying the physics notes scattered in front of him, but Mingyu is blowing up the group chat, which led Minghao and Jihoon’s conversation back to the logistics of Mingyu’s 1.5 year relationship. 

“Isn’t that just some stupid trope?” Jihoon asks, rhetorical. He’s always rolled his eyes at movies, TV shows, books, et al. that capitalize on that beaten horse of a cliché; he knows teenagers eat it up, but he thought they loved it so much because it’s just so… _unrealistic_. That’s like believing those cheesy dramas where the female lead gives up her career to elope with a jobless, divorced, single-dad with no redeemable attributes outside of being nice. Unrealistic, not grounded in any type of reality — but it’s a cliché that housewives cream their pants over. 

Minghao’s eyes flicker up to meet his before going back to the pot of frying bread. “Apparently not. We’re watching living proof of that trope.” Both of their phones vibrate with another text in the group chat — Mingyu. Speak of the devil. 

“Isn’t it weird?” Soonyoung is walking out of the common bathroom, blotting his damp hair with a towel as he pads across the living room to the kitchen. “Being a third wheel? You and Mingyu were, like, inseparable.” 

Jihoon watches as Soonyoung wraps his arms around Minghao’s waist from behind, rests his chin on Minghao’s shoulder to watch him cook. “They don’t treat me like a third wheel when we hang out,” Jihoon tells him. “And, like. He has a girlfriend now. Of course Mingyu and I can’t hang out like we used to.” 

In actuality, it is pretty awkward to hang out with the two of them. Yeah, they include him in conversations, but they’re so affectionate with one another, and they look at one another like they’ve fallen in love all over again every time. And also it’s hard for Jihoon to look at the two of them together, blinded by The Golden Couple TM. He ends up feeling extra ugly and short and out of place (when Chaeyeon’s wearing even the _tiniest_ of heels she’s taller than Jihoon, and, fuck that, so humiliating), on the outside looking in. 

Minghao feeds Soonyoung a piece of a bread stick that’s already cooled down without looking back. “Remember when Jeonghan used to say Mingyu likes Jihoon so much because he’s, like, obsessed with short girls?” 

“Except I’m not a girl,” Jihoon interjects, pretending to throw his pencil at Minghao. 

Minghao giggles, feeds Soonyoung another piece when he starts to whimper like a dog. “Same difference. He likes feeling tall and manly and strong and shit.” 

“He’s already tall and manly and strong and shit,” Soonyoung says around his mouthful of bread. “He needs to accept what he has and leave the short girls for us manlets.” 

Jihoon groans, flops onto the back of the barstool. “I really hope you guys are fucking joking. Mingyu doesn’t care what a man looks like, because he’s not into men, you fuckers. Tell Jeonghan to keep his jokes to himself so no one takes him seriously, please.” 

“It was just a theory,” Soonyoung says. He snatches the remaining piece of breadstick from Minghao’s hand before he can eat it and giggles when Minghao tries to pry it back. “Not in front of the hot oil, Mung Ho! You’re gonna give us third degree burns!” More giggling and wrestling until Minghao gets the stick back and stuffs it into his mouth. Soonyoung pouts at Minghao, then looks away. “Which _could_ be kinda true. He does hang around you the most. I saw you wearing his favorite jacket one day and was like, oh, maybe Jeonghan hyung was onto something.” 

“We’ve known each other the longest! We went to high school together, for fuck’s sake,” Jihoon says, flabbergasted. “I can’t believe this is what you guys talk about behind my back. Is there a secret group chat?” 

“I’m not saying he wants to _fuck_ you, dude,” Soonyoung huffs, finally looking at Jihoon. “Just that he treats you differently than us. That’s all.” 

“And no, no secret group chat,” Minghao laughs. “Unless I was left out of it, too.”

Perhaps Jihoon got a little too offended at the theory/half-joke thingy. A little too suspiciously offended. He can accept that. But, like, Jihoon is an over-thinker in general, and he doesn’t like it when new ideas are crammed into his head; he has enough to ruminate over to last him a lifetime. He lets his mind wander and then, bam, he’s back to the insignificant stuff — _Are you trying to wake them up? Are you trying to wake them up? Are you trying to wa_ — 

“Cheer up,” Minghao sets a paper towel with three pieces of youtiao in front of Jihoon. The oil leaks through, leaves splotchy patches in its wake. “Mingyu may not be around as much anymore, but it’s not like he disappeared. Look,” Minghao picks his phone up and taps on the group chat. “He wants to go to see some band Saturday night.” 

Jihoon picks his own phone up and looks at the fifty-plus unread texts. “I’m not upset,” he grumbles to the screen. “Just a tiny bit annoyed with Jeonghan spreading dumb rumors.” 

Minggu: _chan & his band are playing at the social venue Saturday night. we gotta go, please!! we can bar hop after and get shitfaced lol _

Jeonghanie: _ugh you know I hate screamo. can i just meet you guys at the bar??_

Minggu: _we talked about this. it’s not screamo lol. please come support! he’s letting us in for free and everything_. 

Jeonghanie: _well. he screams sometimes._

Jeonghanie: _UGH. i hate peer pressure_

white people call him vernon: _you know im down! chan’s band is kick ass_

The other texts are nonsense class talk (Mingyu and Jeonghan are both photography and art design majors) and Mingyu sending them pictures of the polaroids he took of himself and Chaeyeon. Some are Mingyu posing with food at various restaurants, others are Chaeyeon smiling or looking off out a window or holding both her cheeks in her hands and squeezing her eyes shut, cutesy. There’s one that’s half covered by another, one that looks like Chaeyeon in what may or may not be a lacy white bra, her long, ink-black hair frazzled, sitting on a bed that is definitely Mingyu’s, smiling. The same bed that — _Are you trying to wake them up_? 

Minghao texts that he’s down to go, includes, _Soonyoung says he’ll go, too_! at the end. 

Focus, Jihoon, you idiot with your idiot brain. 

Jihoon: _sounds like a plan, minggu_

Jihoon: _please don’t wear that leather jacket tho. every time we go watch chan you wear it lmao_

There. Jihoon is cool, collected, and Mingyu is his best friend that he teases from time to time, has to knock him down a few notches so his head doesn’t get too big. And clearly he and Chaeyeon are fucking — which is a weird thought, because whenever Jihoon tries to imagine them having the type of sex he knows Mingyu likes, a big ERROR sign flashes inside his head. They probably settle for missionary sex or something, so she can look lovingly in his eyes as he fucks her. Makes love to her. Whatever.

Mingyu’s never mentioned their sex life outside of blushing and telling his friends to shut up when they crack jokes or inquire about it. “She’s a good Christian girl,” he’d say, clearly in jest, because they all know Mingyu well enough to know that he cannot go one and a half years without getting his dick wet. 

Which. It’s fine, of course. What they do is sacred, and no one needs to know. Jihoon is just nosy and despite his vivid imagination, the ERROR sign stops him from picturing her getting fucked hard in the kitchen, shirt in her mouth — or her getting fingered while Mingyu shoves a pillow on her face to shut her up. Nosy thoughts. Inquiring minds that would like to know. 

Or he needs to get laid. 

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he snaps out of his daydream to look down at it. Minghao and Soonyoung are busy wrestling for a bread stick albeit there are plenty of cooked ones on the counter. Weirdos. 

Minggu: _whatever. youre just jealous i found the designer jacket for_ ₩ _17 first._

Minggu: _dont beat around the bush, babe. just say you wanna wear it_. 

white people call him vernon: _lmao uh oh he brought out the babe_. 

Jeonghanie: _keep all flirting out of the group chat, please. this is a homo free zone_

Jihoon rolls his eyes and puts his phone face down on the counter. He needs to study before he fails this midterm going back and forth with these fuckers. Especially Jeonghan’s rumor-starting self. 

* * *

Perhaps it’s to spite him, Jihoon can’t know for sure, but Mingyu shows up to the hole-in-the-wall venue in blue jeans, pointed ankle boots, and a navy, long-sleeved button down, looking as preppy as ever. His dyed brown hair is in waves, shorter on the sides and the back, longer in the front and the crown. Under the dim lights, it glows an almost orange color. 

Jihoon, definitely to spite Mingyu, called Mingyu’s bluff and wore the leather jacket. When the crew met up at Mingyu’s place to carpool, Mingyu extended it to Jihoon, wiggling his eyebrows, and asked, “You want it, don’t you? Since you had so much to say in the group chat.” 

He was prepared for this; Mingyu follows a formula to the very intricate details. Jihoon, wearing a black tee shirt with ‘cool kids club’ in the top right corner, black jeans with gaping holes in the knees, and white Vans, snatched the coat from Mingyu’s hands and slipped it on. “I did, thanks,” he retorted, a wide smile spread across his face. The jacket is big on Jihoon, of course, the sleeves draping over his hands, frayed bottom of it reaching Jihoon’s mid-thigh when it sits at Mingyu’s hip. And it smells like Mingyu, too — light tones of sandalwood and citrus, retaining some of its leather scent. 

“Lookin’ dapper,” Hansol had said with a smirk that Jihoon did not like, then turned to help Soonyoung figure out how to call an uber on the app. 

The Social Venue is as hot, dark, cramped, and… well-lived, as usual. Cigarette smoke is thick in the air (it’s one of the few remaining places to let their customers smoke in designated areas), mixing with the faint stench of sweaty bodies and liquor. And the stage is just as cramped; one of the bands is already playing when Jihoon and his friends squeeze their way in, a noisy clang of drums, electric guitar riffs, and an off-key vocalist. Jihoon debates turning around and waiting outside until they’re done, but by the time that thought crosses his mind he’s been shoved to stand at a free spot by the bar, his friends close behind. 

“I got us,” Mingyu shouts to them, one hand cupped around his mouth as if that does anything, the other pointing at the bartender. He’s one of the tallest in the venue, head sticking out over a sea of fishnet, leather, and dog collar-clad people. Jeonghan, face stuck in a permanent grimace and shoulders pulled in, arms crossed, gives Mingyu a quick thumbs up before shifting as a couple shoves past him. 

Then Mingyu is maneuvering away and to the bar, leaving the rest to stand awkwardly and watch the band. “They fucking suck, huh?” Hansol leans over to shout into Jihoon’s ear, and Jihoon bursts into laughter, because, yeah, they more than ‘fucking suck’. It’s a surprise that anybody is dancing to this mess. 

Chan’s band, _The Future_ , has always been the best performers at this shithole of a venue. He makes pretty decent money here, and the owners love to have him because he brings in hoards of his fans (so crazy to think about baby Chan having his own fandom; Jihoon’s known him since he was just the kid that wore all black and had big dreams) that provide good patronage. And Jihoon is down to support his friends, even if their genre of music isn’t his cup of tea. 

Mingyu slides his way back over to them, three shots and lime slices in each of his big hands, and passes them out to everyone. “To Chan,” Mingyu shouts, and Jihoon, Jeonghan, Minghao, and Soonyoung repeat _to chan!_ before knocking their shot glasses together and backing it. 

Vodka. It burns on the way down, and Jihoon quickly bites into his lime wedge to erase the awful taste in his mouth. Soonyoung sticks his tongue out and winces once his is down, Minghao pointing and laughing at him, visibly unaffected by his own shot. Mingyu takes the empty shot glasses from them when everyone is done and slides away again. 

They have another round of shots to celebrate the god awful band finishing their set, and it makes the night go by a little easier. Jihoon hates crowds, and he hates loud music more, but the liquor on an empty stomach loosens his limbs, makes every turn and step feel lighter. And he knows Hansol is feeling it, too, because he’s laughing way harder than usual at Jeonghan miming hanging himself when the off-key vocalist promises to come back next weekend. 

A random rock song plays during the intermission. 

Then they’re relaxed and prepared enough to whoop and holler when Chan and his bandmates come onto stage to set up their instruments. Chan is wearing a very loose black v-neck blouse, a black wide brimmed hat, two-inch leather ankle boots, and black jeans that are filled with so many holes that he might as well have never worn it. A random assortment of silver jewelry hangs around his neck, every finger on his left hand adorned with silver rings. He smiles shyly at the group as he adjusts the microphone, considering they’re the only ones currently cheering. 

Jihoon is pretty good friends with the other members of _The Future_ — Junhui, the electric guitarist, is a cool guy, but he’s a tad too weird for Jihoon; Hyejin, their drummer and back-up vocals, makes Jihoon’s knees a little weak when she looks at him; and Wonwoo, their bassist, was quiet and reserved when Jihoon first met him, but now he’s completely out of his shell and, wow, turns out he’s Soonyoung if Soonyoung were tall, more handsome, more technologically adept, and in a band. Jihoon’s never told him that, though. Only thinks it. 

Finally, they’re set up, and the venue’s owner introduces them, the crowd cheering and clapping. Chan gets the microphone back, and, smiling out at the crowd, says, “Yo. As Baekhyun hyung said, we’re _The Future_ . Thanks so much for the love. I, uh, we have some new shit that we’re really fuckin’ proud of, so if you guys hate it, we’re never coming back.” The crowd laughs good-naturedly, random declarations of love hollered from a couple of girls. “This first one is called _I Don’t Wanna Know_. Um, a couple of us have gone through some shitty break ups, so this comes from the heart a bit. Alright.” 

Another round of shots are backed during Chan’s four-song set, and Jihoon ends up leaning his shoulder on Mingyu for support, because his feet are kinda tired, alright, and Vans aren’t arch-supportive enough. Mingyu doesn’t seem to care or mind, though; he drapes an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders, eyes trained on the stage, a wide smile on his face. 

Minghao and Soonyoung end up out on the floor, thrashing and dancing about during the more upbeat songs. They start a sea of jumping people, all their hands and phones up in the air. Hansol ends up joining them, Jeonghan remaining with Mingyu and Jihoon near the bars, completely uninterested in this type of music. 

“See!?” Jeonghan leans up to shout to Mingyu during the final song. “He’s screaming! It’s screamo!” Mingyu doesn’t even bother to humor him. 

By the end of _The Future_ ’s set, it’s hot as fuck in the cramped venue, and the leather jacket is making Jihoon sweat like crazy. Minghao, Soonyoung, and Hansol return from the floor drenched themselves, Soonyoung’s bleach blonde fringe stuck to his forehead. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, shall we?” Jeonghan says, not as loud since there’s no band playing. 

‘Get the fuck out of there’ is exactly what they do; outside is so much cooler than in the smoke-infested venue, and Jihoon breathes an air of relief when they’re out on the sidewalk. Reading his mind, Hansol says, “Those kinda joints make you appreciate clean air that much more,” earning giggles of agreement from Minghao. 

“Air pollution and sound pollution,” Jeonghan says, oozing in sarcasm. “What’s not to love?”

They end up at a bar down the street that is, thankfully, not as crowded or hot as the previous place. It’s got a hipster feel, with plants and picture windows and fancy, overpriced drinks. But they have specials that are cheap enough to convince them to stay. 

“I texted Chan where we are if he wants to join,” Mingyu says as he puts his phone back in his jeans pocket. 

“He’s probably going home with a groupie as we speak,” Soonyoung says. “You saw all of those chicks? It’s like they were having an hour-long orgasm out there.” 

Minghao giggles. “That’s how you get girls, dude. Either be in a band, be a bad boy, or be a bad boy in a band.” 

“Not fair. Do I have to be an asshole if I wanna get a girlfriend?” Soonyoung pouts. Hansol gives two, consoling pats on his back, biting back his laughter. 

Jihoon glances at Mingyu. “I’m sure our good friend Mingyu has some wisdom to bestow upon us: the asshole with the girlfriend. Mingyu?” 

Mingyu rolls his eyes, shoves Jihoon’s arm. “I’m not an asshole. I treat Chaeyeon with the respect she deserves.” He looks at Hansol. “Besides, this kid over here has a girlfriend. Why don’t you guys harass him?” 

“He’s not as fun to tease,” Jeonghan admits. “And his girlfriend is in another country. You and Chaeyeon prance around campus like a king and queen.” 

Another eye roll from Mingyu. 

“First step is to be tall,” Jihoon says. “Second step is to be hot. Either one works, but meeting both rules is guaranteed pussy.” 

The conversation ends when Mingyu excuses himself to get them drinks. Hansol points out the unattended pool table, and, on cue, Minghao, Soonyoung, and Jeonghan follow him, splitting into teams. Minghao and Soonyoung on one, Jeonghan and Hansol on the other. 

Jihoon watches idly for a minute, up until Soonyoung starts teasing Minghao about how bad he is, and Minghao shrieks _why are you picking a fight with your own teammate? Fuck off, dude_ , and they’re all dying of laughter because they’re probably drunk and Minghao is usually funny, but Minghao is extra funny with a couple of drinks in them. 

That’s enough for now. Jihoon works his way over to Mingyu, maneuvering around the fancy, cream-colored couches and randomly-placed plant pots and the light scatter of customers. The bar is pretty empty save for one or two couples and what looks to be business partners; Jihoon slides onto the barstool Mingyu is standing next to, two drinks sitting in front of him and the bartender working on the other four. 

“What did you get us?” Jihoon asks, swiveling in the seat to look at him. 

“Rum and coke,” Mingyu says. “It’s the cheapest special.” 

Jihoon examines the specials list written on a chalkboard down the bar. Rum and coke: 9700 won. Cheap is relative here, he supposes. 

Mingyu pulls his phone back out, reads the notifications, and then taps on somebody’s name and starts thumbing the screen. 

“Chan answer you?” Jihoon asks. He reaches out and takes one of the two completed drinks, sips from the tiny ass straw. 

“Nah. He’s busy with his groupies, probably,” Mingyu says to his phone. “It’s Chaeyeon.” 

Ah. Of course. “Right,” Jihoon says. “It’s important you check in with her. Don’t want her thinking you’re flirting with other women.” 

Mingyu snorts absently at this, hyper-focused on whatever he’s typing to her. From Jihoon’s angle, he can see an essay of a text from Chaeyeon and some of the text Mingyu’s working on. He’s on paragraph two. A fight? Their millionth love declaration? A debate over the morality of selling alcoholic beverages more than 300% the price of purchasing the individual ingredients yourself and making it at home? 

“She wants to see you on a Saturday night?” Jihoon lets himself ask without talking himself out of it. He’s curious, and the worst Mingyu can do is evade the question, like he always does whenever Soonyoung or Jeonghan or Hansol asks about their favorite sex positions. Good Christian girl, yeah yeah yeah. 

Mingyu doesn’t answer right away. He’s still focused on whatever dissertation he’s preparing to send her, only looking up from his phone once it’s delivered. A big bubble of blue. “She wants to see me every night,” Mingyu says. Ooh. Good evasion. A change in the script. “I was just letting her know what I’m up to.” He smirks, lips glossy with chapstick. “What? Jealous you don’t have a girl to check up on you?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jihoon says, laughing around his straw. While a girlfriend that cares about him would be fantastic, he’s not hard pressed about it. His friends are all that he needs — for now. Anyways, he gets laid just fine. 

Speaking of getting laid… 

Jihoon abandons the shitty straw that only lets him suck in tiny portions at a time, sips the drink from the plastic rim instead. Mingyu is taking another drink from the bartender when Jihoon says, “So. You probably didn’t notice, which is typical you, by the way, but, uh. Those polaroids you sent us?” 

Mingyu takes his wallet out and opens it, looking for his debit card. “I’ll choose to ignore that insult.” 

“There was one that was, um. A bit more, frisky? Than the others?” Jihoon takes another gulp of the rum and coke when this gets Mingyu’s attention. He’s leaning over the bar, elbows on the counter, wallet in one hand, card in the other. 

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Frisky?” 

Alright. Typical Mingyu — either not understanding what he’s getting at, or pretending he isn’t so Jihoon spits it out. And spit it out he will. 

“It looked like she was in a bra,” Jihoon finishes. “And she was in your bed. It seemed a little too personal to put in the group chat?” 

Mingyu stares at him for a while longer, expression unmoving. Blinks a few times, stares some more — and then he turns his attention back to finding the right debit card, lets out an incredulous huff. “Are you getting all horny over my girlfriend in a bra?” 

Jihoon feels his face go hot at the accusation. “No,” he shoots back. “Dude. No. I was just pointing it out!” He frowns at his half-consumed drink. “Fuck you, man, seriously. I thought I was doing you a favor.” 

Mingyu extends the correct card to the bartender when she returns with the rest of their drinks. “Right. Bet you jerked off to it, too, pervert.” The bartender hesitates for a millisecond before walking off to the cash register. 

“This is the last time I’m ever helping you out,” Jihoon huffs. He’s almost one hundred percent sure his ears are red now, and it’s not because of the heat or the intoxication. “Why did you say that shit in front of the bartender?” 

Mingyu looks at him again, now with a smirk that makes Jihoon want to fight him in the middle of the bar. He’ll lose, duh, but he’s willing to risk it. 

“If you want to see Chaeyeon naked, just ask,” Mingyu, the annoying fucker that he is, teases. “You can be the second guy on campus to know what she sounds like when she’s getting fucked.” 

It’s the most graphic Mingyu’s ever been about Chaeyeon in the entire year and a half that they’ve been dating, and it makes Jihoon squirm in his seat, an uncomfortable pool of heat dropping from his face to between his legs. “Dude,” is all he can say, a weak croak. He hates how quickly his body reacts from Mingyu saying the simplest shit in the world; hates that he can’t hide it and Mingyu is staring at him and he knows Mingyu knows that he can’t hide it because Mingyu has known him for forever now and Mingyu always looks at the worst possible times and makes Jihoon break out into a thin sheen of sweat and his heart skip a couple of beats and _are you trying to wake them up_? No, no, he wasn’t, he really wasn’t, he just can’t control his stupid fucking mouth and he always teases Mingyu about how he wears his every emotion on his face but, surprise, turns out maybe that’s projection because Jihoon wears every fucking emotion on his face, on his body, in between his legs — the dick that betrays him time and time again — and he knows Mingyu knows that he can’t hide it because Mingyu has known him — 

“That’s what you want, right?” Mingyu asks, gaze unfaltering. Shit, shit, shit. “She’s a good Christian girl, but it’s a different story when I —“ 

“Thank you!” The bartender returns with his card and a receipt, puts it down in front of them before gliding off to help another customer. Mingyu’s phone buzzes at the same time, and Mingyu picks it up, looks at the screen. 

Jihoon lets out the breath he’s been holding. Saved by the bell. The bartender. Whatever. 

He can see another long-ass message from Chaeyeon, Mingyu reading it slowly. “I’ll go give them their drinks,” Jihoon says, mostly to himself because Mingyu clearly isn’t listening anymore. He gets up and carries as many drinks as he can carry, all four of them, to the pool table. 

“Took you long enough,” Soonyoung says, snatching one from Jihoon’s hand playfully. “I was starting to get too sober for my liking.” 

Jihoon hears himself laugh, strained little ha-has. “Sorry, your highness.” 

* * *

They get back to Mingyu’s apartment ten minutes to 3 a.m. Minghao and Soonyoung take their own uber at the bar since it makes more sense for the roommates to head out together; Hansol and Jeonghan snag their own ubers when they get inside Mingyu’s place. Neither of which are going in the direction of Jihoon’s apartment. 

“You can stay here,” Mingyu says with a shrug. “You never got those clothes from my bathroom last week.” 

Jihoon rubs at his eyes, yawns. Drinking makes him so tired. “True. Thanks.” 

Mingyu goes to his kitchen, grabs a glass of water. “You can shower first if you want. I’m gonna eat this leftover takeout real quick.” 

“Alright.” 

It’s not until Jihoon’s in Mingyu’s bedroom bathroom, stripping off his clothes and stepping into the tub, that he realizes that it’s the first time in a very long time that he’s staying over at Mingyu’s without any of the other guys here, too. Pre-girlfriend, he’d often end up sharing Mingyu’s bed — sometimes they’d get handsy, sometimes they’re too tired to even acknowledge one another — but he hasn’t been doing that post-girlfriend. Not that it’s a big deal or anything, or that some big change happened in their friendship to warrant not sharing Mingyu’s bed. It’s just… never happened. Jihoon would either fall asleep out in the living room before making it to the bed, or, most often, they wouldn’t even spend the night at Mingyu’s. He’ll have Chaeyeon over a lot, especially on prime time boy’s night (the weekends), and that meant that someone else had to host. Boy’s night became Boy’s Night ft. Mingyu. 

A coincidence. Yeah.

But, now… Now there’s no boy’s night, and there’s no Chaeyeon. There’s him, and Mingyu, and a door between them. Does this mean he sleeps in the bed? Would it be weird if he didn’t? Because if he doesn’t, despite there being no discernible reason why he shouldn’t, it’d _actually_ look like Jihoon shares the bed with Mingyu because Mingyu’s single and he’s single and they’re being Not Best Friends. But. But what if he tries to get into the bed and Mingyu’s like, woah, dude, your spot is on the couch, bed is off limits while I’m taken? Not only would that be super embarrassing and Jihoon would have to go home right now immediately, but then it’d prove the Not Best Friends behavior. 

Yes. Overthinking Jihoon frets over this the entire shower. He takes an uncomfortably long time in the bathroom — probably a good 45 minutes — half of it spent letting the hot water run over his skin, the other half slathering himself in lotion and slowly putting on the white tee shirt and sleep shorts he left in the closet. 

Then he spends 15 minutes brushing his teeth with the toothbrush he leaves there for whenever he stays over. A whole fucking hour in the bathroom. If Mingyu thought shit was weird before, he’s definitely thinking it now. 

Jihoon looks at his reflection in the mirror, his damp, black hair smoothed back off his forehead. There’s still condensation on the mirror from the long, hot shower. Okay. He’s going to just walk out, casual as ever, and get in the bed. He’s gonna get in the bed. Jihoon — you’re getting the bed. ‘Cause that’s not weird. They’ve always shared the bed. Stop being weird. 

He gathers the strength to walk over to the bathroom door, starts opening it, but. But. But he hears someone talking, and it’s definitely not Mingyu’s voice because it’s too light, and it’s definitely not the TV or Mingyu’s phone because it sounds like it’s _in_ the apartment. Like, there, _in it_ , and Mingyu doesn’t have those fancy speakers that makes it sound like there’s a live band playing in his apartment. He freezes, hand still on the handle, door ajar. 

The bedroom is empty. The voice is coming from out in the living room. If Jihoon strains to listen, it sounds like a girl’s voice. 

A girl’s voice. 

Then — Mingyu’s bedroom door is opening, leaving Jihoon no time to shut the bathroom door; he lets go of the handle and jumps back, out of view, slaps a hand over his mouth. 

“You smell like it,” the girl’s voice is saying, much clearer now that it’s in Mingyu’s fucking bedroom. A soft, fluttery laugh escapes her. Fluttery laugh. Flutter. Laugh. Holy fuck, why is Chaeyeon — ? 

Mingyu laughs next. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “I’m pretty much sober now, though.” There’s a _fwump_ ! as Mingyu discards some articles of clothing onto the carpet. Jihoon very slowly crouches down behind the door, heart racing probably a million beats a minute. His armpits tingle with sweat. What the fuck is Mingyu _thinking_? 

Why is Chaeyeon up so late? 

It’s the most insignificant question that comes to mind, but, see: Jihoon’s brain conjuring up insignificant things to drive him crazy over. 

“Your friends made it back safe?” Definitely Chaeyeon asks. Mingyu’s bed creaks with weight. She’s sitting on the bed. 

“Yeah, Soonyoung texted me they made it back. Hansol and Jeonghan, too,” Mingyu tells her. Another creak of the bed. “Jihoon left, like, an hour ago.” 

Again — what the _fuck_ is Mingyu thinking? That’s a bold-faced lie; Jihoon is very much here, and, no, spending an hour having an anxiety attack in the bathroom isn’t leaving. At least, not physically. He’s very much still here, very much listening to — 

Wait. 

_You can be the second guy on campus to know what she sounds like when she’s being fucked_. 

There’s _no_ way Mingyu was being serious.

“Alright, good,” her voice is softer now, sultry, almost. It’s a tone of voice he’s never heard from her before, never thought he’d ever get the chance to. 

There’s a quiet shuffle, the sound of clothes and the bed creaking some more and, oh, Jihoon can hear the wet sounds of their lips, their tongues, and before Jihoon can process that and what’s happening and what he’s being made to hear, Chaeyeon moans. _Moans_. A fluttery moan that’s gentle, much like her laugh, but so much sexier.

She keeps fucking moaning, and Jihoon can hear the smack of Mingyu’s lips against her skin — her neck, he’s sure — and every sound sends a shock of arousal down Jihoon’s spine, straight to his dick, fattening it in his sleep shorts. This is dangerous. Jihoon doesn’t have his headphones or anything to try to drown out the noises, can’t do anything but sit quietly and listen. And there’s absolutely no way he can make his presence known now, now that Mingyu lied to her fucking face and she’d be _so_ mad if he pops up. And Mingyu would be mad, too, probably. 

The bed groans much longer this time. More clothes dropping, being discarded, and Chaeyeon’s giggling between gasps. And, “God, you’re so wet,” Mingyu whispers, husky and wanton. If Jihoon wasn’t hard before, he definitely is now. 

Then, Jihoon is 99.99% sure Mingyu starts eating her out, because her moans get desperate, frequent, every movement of their bodies making the bed springs whine. “Right there,” she gasps, whimpers a little. “There, there, there, Mingyu, _fuck_.” 

Jung fucking Chaeyeon cussed. Jihoon is full out sweating now, squirming and trying so hard not to shove a hand down his shorts and jerk himself off. That would be a new level of degeneracy that Jihoon refuses to lower himself to. Right? Jerking off to his best friend eating his girlfriend out? That said best friend coordinated precisely for him to bear witness to? Oh, fuck, it makes it hotter, knowing Mingyu has enough brain cells left after a late night out drinking to make this happen. Shit. Refuse. Please dick, _refuse_. 

Jihoon’s a degenerate. 

“Kept thinking about fucking you all night,” Mingyu’s saying. “You know it drives me fucking crazy when you beg like that.” 

A longer, unrestrained moan escapes Chaeyeon, more shifting of their bodies, occasional giggles laced with lust. 

“I wanna hear it from your mouth, Chae. Beg for my dick with that pretty mouth.” There’s a steady squelch, Mingyu letting out a moan for the first time since they started. Either he’s jerking himself off, or Chaeyeon is doing it for him. Her slender, dainty little fingers around his cock, twisting at the head and fisting down his length, and — 

Jihoon gets a hand around himself, nearly ruins everything by moaning out loud but catches himself at the last minute. 

“Please fuck me, please, please,” Chaeyeon babbles. So desperately needy. “Need your dick, Mingyu, _please_.” 

Mingyu moans some more, whoever’s jerking him off speeding up, and then he says, “That’s a good girl,” in almost nothing but a growl. 

They’re fucking now. No doubt about it. The bed springs are groaning with every thrust, the headboard hitting the wall; Chaeyeon’s saying fast little _thank you, thank you, thank you_ ’s between whimpers, Mingyu gasping loudly every time the mattress protests. 

Jihoon’s traitorous dick is leaking precum now, and he presses his palm to his head, twists his hand and bites his bottom lip as hard as he can, anything to not make any noise. His body shakes with it, pleasure making the muscles in his stomach jump, his hips jut forward into his fist. 

There’s a short moment where Chaeyeon stops speaking, just breathes heavily, the bed groaning some more underneath them. Jihoon, the degenerate, horny idiot that he is, takes this opportunity to move forward, an awkward little duck walk while crouching, and very. Very. Very. Slowly tilts his head until he can see the bed, and Mingyu on it, behind Chaeyeon. He’s pulling her hips up, thick length of his dick pressed into the cleft of her ass — and she’s arching her back, a pretty little curve, her face turned towards the wall, arms wrapped around a pillow. 

The bedroom is dark, but the light that splays out from the cracks in the bathroom door is enough for Jihoon to see when Mingyu fucks back into her, making her body jolt forward and a gasp slip from her mouth. 

And. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Lee Jihoon, physics major music composition minor, third year university student, is watching Kim Mingyu fuck Jung Chaeyeon doggy style, one grip vice tight on her hip, the other holding the back of her neck, keeping her down as he ruts into her. 

And. Jihoon starts jerking his cock faster, only manages a few more strokes before he feels his orgasm tighten his muscles, his hips shaking, lower belly jumping; then he’s coming into his hand, onto the door in front of him. He shuts his eyes tightly, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, Mingyu moaning, Chaeyeon begging for him to go faster, carrying him through his orgasm, then as he comes back down to earth. 

Everything about this is so fucked. He can’t really enjoy his post-orgasm daze, because he knows it’s wrong. So horribly wrong. Jihoon’s a degenerate, that’s for sure. And there are a few screws loose inside Mingyu’s head, too, for even giving birth to this ploy. The only innocent party here is Chaeyeon — and, yeah, the enjoyment is over, killed, banished into the deep, dark recesses of his mind. 

Jihoon takes the time to grab the towel behind him, uses it to wipe the floor, his hand, and the door clean. He’s sure they won’t hear him even if he starts walking around with how loud they are out there. 

He, as quiet as possible, picks his phone up off the counter and ducks back behind the door to check the time. 

4:46 a.m. 

She’s not leaving after this, is she? 

Fuck. Is Jihoon gonna be forced to sleep in the _bathroom_? 

More than ever, Jihoon hates Mingyu’s shitty, demented, batshit-insane guts. 

* * *

Somehow, somewhere, Mingyu manages to get Chaeyeon to wash up with him in the other bathroom. And by the time they get through that, it’s 6 a.m., and Jihoon has fallen asleep and woken up several times between then and now. 

She’s gone by 6:20 a.m. Something, something, acting class at 8 a.m. Crazy. She didn’t even get to sleep. 

Jihoon waits on the bathroom floor until he hears the front door open and close, a single pair of footsteps return to the bedroom. And then he’s jumping up, swinging the bathroom door open, stopping at the threshold to look at Mingyu as Mingyu looks at him. 

For a very long moment, they just stare at one another. Unmoving. Dead silent. Jihoon can hear the subdued noises of Mingyu’s next door neighbor’s television. Water rumbles through the pipes in the wall when someone flushes a toilet. 

“What,” Jihoon starts, his dry throat making it come out weak. “The fuck.” 

Mingyu’s eyes flicker down to Jihoon’s mouth. “Did you jerk off in there?” 

The audacity to sound so casual, so unaffected while Jihoon spent the entire fucking night trying to be as quiet as possible less he alerts Chaeyeon and gets them both branded as degenerate perverts for the rest of their university careers, strikes something visceral in Jihoon’s chest. Viscerally angry, flabbergasted, _confused_. He’s cycling through so many emotions that he doesn’t even have the thought to get embarrassed by Mingyu’s blunt question. 

“Is there something wrong with you?” Jihoon asks. His voice is stronger now, more sure. “Are you actually fucking insane? Do I _know_ you?” 

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, but Jihoon powers on. “I thought you were _joking_ when you asked me if I wanted to hear her do — whatever! I thought that was supposed to be a stupid little joke that ended at the _bar_ , dude. She could’ve caught me at _any_ fucking moment and I would’ve willingly gave myself up to the cops for voyeurism, because — because that was fucked up, dude! She’s your _girlfriend_ — “ 

“We didn’t get caught,” Mingyu says. Jihoon falters. “It’s gonna be okay, Hoonie. Promise. You saw some tits and ass. Scandalous.” 

Jihoon gapes on an unspoken word. He closes his mouth. Opens it again. Tilts his head ever so slightly to the right. “We haven’t slept in a _day_. 24 hours. 24 fucking hours. Do you — I. Do you get off on being watched? Was it worth 0 hours of sleep?” 

“Was it?” Mingyu counters. “To you?” 

An incredulous noise that’s almost sensible Korean, almost garbled nonsense. “What?” is all that he manages. 

Mingyu rubs a hand on his face, yawns and turns away. “Forget it. Let’s sleep, okay?” 

“No, no, no,” Jihoon crosses the bedroom to grab Mingyu’s arm before he gets into the bed. Mingyu tiredly looks down at him. “Neither of us are going to sleep until we talk about this. What — that what just happened.” Fuck. His words are coming out so weird. Jihoon pauses to collect himself. “She’s your _girlfriend_ , Mingyu. Whatever happened to good Christian girl that —“ 

“Well,” Mingyu interjects. “She’s not. You heard her last night. Begging for my co — “

Jihoon raises a hand. “Woah! Stop! Yes, I heard.”

“You’re complicating things. It wasn’t hot to you? Didn’t turn you on?” Mingyu twists his body to face Jihoon. Jihoon’s weak grip on Mingyu’s arm falls off. “Did you jerk off or not?” 

Silence. Jihoon feels like he’s been thrusted into an alternate universe. His brain is short circuiting. “I,” he starts. Stops. “Yeah. Yes.” 

“Okay.” 

Okay!? 

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Mingyu parrots with finality. “Can I sleep now?” 

Jihoon has no choice but to let him crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head. And he stands there dumbly for what feels like five minutes, but is realistically one. That’s all the time Mingyu needs to start snoring softly, prone, face turned to the wall. 

* * *

This isn’t the craziest thing they’ve done. Maybe. And maybe Mingyu’s right — Jihoon’s complicating things. It’s not like they tag-teamed her or anything. Jihoon heard them, yeah, but he hears his next door neighbors fucking sometimes. (He saw them, too, but that’s an unnecessary detail.)

 _Right_?

Either way, Mingyu, much like after everything he and Jihoon do, behaves as if nothing ever happened. He acts so normal, in fact, that Jihoon starts to believe that perhaps it was a super, super, super realistic fever dream. Or that it was a lapse in judgement in a sea of many judgement lapses. He and Mingyu have plenty of those. Sometimes he thinks they both share a single brain cell, especially when they’re together. 

Anyways. It takes Jihoon a while to stop breaking out in nervous sweat when Chaeyeon is around, but two months later he's good. Totally good. Over it. And Mingyu never bringing it up again, never even hinting at it, helps. He’s the Mingyu that rough-houses with Hansol, helps Jeonghan tease any of the other boys, barks at Minghao and Soonyoung that they are the gayest pair of straight men he’s ever seen (the irony of that statement is palpable only to Jihoon), harasses Jihoon for every move he makes — That Mingyu is back. 

And Jihoon’s gonna look like an obsessed idiot if he ever brings it back up. He leaves it in the deep, dark recesses of his mind. 

* * *

The end of the spring semester and a slew of back-to-back finals calls for a celebration. One of Hansol’s engineering friends invites him to a party at his off-campus housing — a unit with 4 bedrooms, 4 baths, and two floors, a common area on each. Which means that Jihoon, Mingyu, Jeonghan, Soonyoung, and Minghao are invited too. They come as a package — everyone knows that. 

white people call him vernon: _friday night. 10pm. we may go out after. be there or be square_. 

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _you know im down lmao_

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _ming ming when are you leaving again???_

Jihoon watches his phone buzz like crazy while lying in his bed, TV playing one of the old Spiderman movies. 

Hǎo Minghao: _Sunday! I’m here for a good time not a long time LMAO_

Minggu: _oooh is it a seungcheol party!?_

Jeonghanie: _Will you be coming, mingyu, or you gonna ditch us for your girlfriend again?_

Jihoon snickers, rolls onto his side. 

Minggu: _1) She’s busy filming for a drama in gangnam because she’s an actress and you’re a peasant_

Minggu: _2) if you miss me that much you can drop the passive aggression and tell me honestly, han. i miss you too, you pretty boy you_

Jeonghanie: _Ew._

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji]: _the only pretty boy in here is ming ming lol. did you guys see his last IG post??_

Hǎo Minghao: [Sends a selfie of himself lying in bed, one hand making a heart with his thumb and index finger, a sleepy smile on his face. By the looks of his bare shoulders, he’s shirtless]

Soonyoung [blonde man emoji] hearts the attachment. 

white people call him vernon: _ok that’s enough for me for today. im muting this group chat lmao. see you bitches friday_

Hansol has the right idea. Jihoon follows suit and mutes the group chat, flicks over to Instagram because class is over and he’s seen this Spiderman movie five times already and he’s bored. True to word, Minghao has a new post of himself out on the field, surrounded by other students, posing for the camera. He’s wearing a plain, white tee shirt that looks like it cost way too much money, to be honest; and he has a straw hat on. Pretty boy for sure.

He tagged Soonyoung in it, too, right where his heart would be. Maybe Mingyu has a point (yadda yadda gayest straight guys). Jihoon keeps scrolling. 

Coincidentally, there are a few new posts from Mingyu. One is a group picture of him and a few other photography students, each of them holding their cameras and doing different poses. They’re in some classroom, a row of windows behind them. _Gonna miss this class so much! Couldn’t have gotten through this hell of a semester without them_ , the caption reads. 

The other new post is of him sitting at an outside table at some downtown café. There are two lattes and a chocolate muffin on the table; he tagged Chaeyeon on one of the mugs. Duh. And he’s got one elbow on the table, holding his head up. He’s winking dramatically, a cheesy, tight-lipped smile on his face. 

Only Mingyu is handsome enough to get away with these dumb ass pictures. Because Jihoon’s a nosy shit, he taps on the comments and scrolls through. He’s not surprised to find almost nothing but girls telling him how cute he is or how pretty the view is or how the lattes and muffin look delicious. Some are of Soonyoung begging Mingyu to date him, another is Jeonghan commenting only angel and sun emojis. 

He’s seen enough. But, Jihoon likes the photo set anyway, the supportive friend that he is, and comments: _looking delectable. the muffin, that is. kekekeke_. Then he taps on Mingyu’s username, idly scrolls through all the photos. 

It’s like taking a trip down memory lane. Mingyu has an obsession with polaroids, and his Instagram is a testament to that: the majority are polaroids of his friends in apartments, parties, out in bars and restaurants and parks. There are a string of photos of Jihoon; him sitting on the floor of Mingyu’s apartment bedroom, eyes crescent moons because he’s mid laugh, a bottle of beer in one hand, the other holding his phone. Another of Jihoon curled up on Mingyu’s bed, dying laughing at something — Jihoon doesn’t remember what — wearing what definitely looks like Mingyu’s night shirt, the way it drowns him. He’s not sure if he’s wearing underwear under it, honestly. 

Then there’s some of Jihoon out on a beach at night, some of him looking way too intoxicated to know that Mingyu’s taken a picture of him, some of him at Mingyu’s family home, arm draped over his mother, grinning ear to ear. It’s crazy to think about how long they’ve been friends. Crazy to think that the terms of their friendship changed in their third year of high school, only progressed after Mingyu won that bet and kissed him in their first year of university. 

Jihoon lays idly, brain ruminating over the Don’t Matter Events again, when a notification from Mingyu pops up on the top of his screen. It’s a text outside of the group chat. 

Jihoon taps it. 

Minggu: _i looked delectable too, admit it._

The eye roll is immediate. Jihoon taps the message box and starts typing away. 

Jihoon: _the ego on you, man. your entire comment section is girls telling you how hot you are_ _what more do you need?????_

It takes mere seconds for Mingyu to respond. 

Minggu: _they’re not you_. 

No emoji, no second text saying _lololol just kidding that’s gay_ , nothing. Jihoon’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He gives Mingyu one, two, five, ten minutes to add an addendum. Still nothing. Okay. Two can play at this game. 

Jihoon: _lonely now that chaeyeon’s off doing big things? i get it._ [crying emoji] 

He watches the bubble pop up on Mingyu’s side of the screen, indicating that he’s typing something. 

Minggu: _yes now my bed is cold :( come over and warm it, please. promise i’ll treat you good_

Another visceral eye roll. Okay, Mingyu is still being Mingyu. Jihoon texts back, _blocked_ , and then tosses his phone on the mattress behind him. 

* * *

Seungcheol’s apartment is packed when they arrive. It’s to be expected, considering Seungcheol knows, like, everyone, and everyone brings their everyone and then it’s a chaos of loud American rap music, loud conversations, shouts, hollers — absolute madness. Jihoon’s friend group instantly disperses upon arrival, and Jihoon decides that this is a good night as ever to get shit-faced drunk. Because, hey, spring break has officially arrived! Which means no hangovers to nurse in time for morning lectures! Fuck yes. 

He shoves his way to the equally-packed kitchen, dodging red cups that tilt dangerously close to his jean jacket as he squeezes through. Once at the counter, he’s overwhelmed with the sheer expanse of drinks covering every centimeter of it. Several different brands of vodka, rum, tequila, gin. An even wider assortment of soda. Jihoon stands there contemplating what he should concoct for himself first when an arm drapes over his shoulders, and Chan — owner of said arm — slides up beside him. 

“Try this,” Chan shouts at him, handing Jihoon a cup. Jihoon takes it without thinking, looks into it. “Thanks for coming to watch my band play, dude. I love you guys.” 

Chan’s already drunk. Jihoon can tell by the way his face is flushed pink, eyes hazy in the way drunk people’s eyes are, and he’s pulling Jihoon into a hug so tight that Jihoon nearly drops the drink he gave him. 

“I’m your number one fan,” Jihoon shouts back, laughing. He pats Chan’s back a couple of times with his free hand, and then pries himself from the embrace. Up close, Jihoon can see the dark eyeshadow around Chan’s eyes, eyeliner tracing his waterline. He smells like cigarette smoke, liquor, and floral perfume; as usual, he’s wearing all black and silver, black tee shirt covered with drawings of eyes, black jeans tight, the same leather boots he had on those two months ago. “What’s in this, by the way?” 

Chan grins sloppily at him. “Lots and lots and _lots_ of patrón. And some Sprite.” Then he’s turning away when someone from the living room yells his name as loudly as they can. It’s a cluster fuck of people between them, but Jihoon can make out Hyejin’s silver highlights anywhere. “Gotta blast, love you!” 

Aaaand he’s gone. Jihoon looks into the cup for a moment longer, then — fuck it — downs the rest of it. He trusts Mr. Rockstar, Heartthrob Chan. 

A few more drinks like that later, Jihoon’s feeling delirious enough to go dance with the group out in the living room. He can’t understand a single word they’re saying since it’s in English, but it has a good beat that makes the walls shake, and everyone around him is jumping up and down and hollering. Hansol is near the corner, beer bottle in hand, the only one in the room that’s singing the actual lyrics. 

Two songs later, Jihoon is burning the fuck up in his jean jacket. And there’s sweat beading on his forehead, above his lips. OK, dancing is shelved for now. Jihoon pushes out of the crowd and goes up to the second floor. 

It’s not as packed as downstairs, but it’s still busy. The TV is on mute, some random music videos playing on it. He finds Seungcheol, Minghao, Soonyoung, and Mingyu seated on the worn-leather couches, each with a red cup in hand and chatting animatedly about something that Jihoon can’t fucking hear because the music and other conversations are way too loud. 

Jihoon goes over, takes a seat on the spot next to Mingyu. Mingyu doesn’t visibly acknowledge him, still saying something to Seungcheol, but his arm instantly wraps around Jihoon’s waist and pulls him in. Smelling like sandalwood, citrus, liquor. Jihoon leans into the touch. 

“Wow, man,” Seungcheol is saying. He’s got a snapback on backwards, oversized graphic tee, wide-legged jeans. “You have no idea how lucky you are.” 

Mingyu presses his fingers into Jihoon’s side, makes him squirm away from it, but not away. “So they say,” Mingyu says. “What about you, though? Aren’t you still with…?” 

Seungcheol gives a tight-lipped smile, takes a sip of his beer. “Nah,” he tells him. “We broke up, like… three months ago.” 

“Keep up, Mingyu, _jeez_ ,” Soonyoung teases, only to get attacked with tickles by Minghao. “Sorry, sorry, spare me!” Aaand they’re gone. Not physically, but they’re going back and forth, giggling and wrestling on the couch next to Seungcheol. 

Mingyu shrugs at Seungcheol, ignoring the two idiots. “You’re pretty lucky, too, I’d say. Now you’re free to do whatever the fuck you want without someone always breathing down your neck.” 

“Is that how you feel?” Jihoon asks. 

Mingyu picks up a cup from the table in front of him and swallows the rest of it down in two, big gulps. “Sometimes, yeah,” he says. “She doesn’t like when I go to parties and shit. But when she asks me where I am, I don’t wanna lie, y’know? So I tell the truth and we end up arguing.” 

“I feel that,” Seungcheol laughs. “That’s definitely a positive of being single. But you and your girl are, like, picture-perfect.” 

Mingyu doesn’t respond, just leans forward and grabs Soonyoung’s drink since he’s clearly too busy flirting to want it. Jihoon watches him take a couple gulps before putting it back down. He doesn’t look upset, per se, but he doesn’t look relaxed, either. Jihoon can almost _see_ Mingyu’s mind going off somewhere not at the party, somewhere they can’t reach. 

A guy Jihoon recognizes but doesn’t really know comes up to Seungcheol, and they break off into their own conversation. 

Jihoon nudges him, makes Mingyu look down at him. “An anonymous source told me they’re smoking out back. Wanna check it out?” He raises his eyebrows up and down, nudges some more. 

And that’s how the two end up behind the building, passing around a blunt with three acquaintances until Jihoon’s high enough to enjoy it, but not too much as to turn his alcohol-addled brain to mush. The acquaintances end up dispersing, two of them going back inside and the remaining walking further away to smoke a cigarette. Leaving Mingyu and Jihoon sitting side by side, in the grass, the music loud enough that they can hear the lyrics even out here. 

“So.” Jihoon says. Stops. He kinda sorta wants to talk about it. The whole breathing-down-neck thing. ‘Cause of course he does. “Chaeyeon. She’s asking what you’re up to right now?” 

Mingyu leans back on his hands, head tilting back to look up at the night sky. “It can be annoying sometimes,” he says. “But it’s cool. I knew what I was getting into when I asked her out.” 

A clear dodge of the question… but okay. Jihoon looks at him, the sharp jut of his jaw, blemish-free skin, the way his brown hair hangs out of his face. And. For the first time since he decided to get over it — _it_ — it comes back to nag at him. And he’s finally thinking about how insane it is that they mutually decided not to talk about it. Like it’s just another one of the stupid things they do. Like it falls into the same category as the time they snorted cocaine with some fucking stranger in the back of a club. Or when they got stupid drunk and _drove_ , fucking drove to a Wendy’s at one in the morning, parked in the parking lot, and ate. And made out some, too, but. Semantics. 

The point is that Jihoon is staring at the profile of Mingyu’s face, feeling like he’s been propelled back to that night two months ago when he got off on Mingyu and Chaeyeon, and he’s feeling the same, incredulous emotions he felt when Mingyu told him to stop complicating things at almost 5 in the morning. And — what the fuck? Why did Jihoon let that go? 

Why does he let it _all_ go? He’s lost count of the times they’ve kissed since their first year, and that’s saying something. Best friends can kiss, though. Right? Yes. There’s no explicit rulebook of what friends can and cannot do; if so, they’ve broken several rules since _high school_. 

“Did it turn you on?” Jihoon hears himself asking. The complete opposite of what he told himself to say. But — “Knowing I was watching?” 

Now Mingyu’s looking at him. The lights hanging off the apartment building behind them illuminates Mingyu’s face, accentuates the sharp line of his jaw, brings out the brown in his eyes. And Jihoon watches as Mingyu’s wet lips part, slow as ever, the way his expression changes into something more confident. As if he knows precisely what Jihoon’s talking about. “Yeah.” 

They’re both degenerates. That’s what Jihoon’s thinking when Mingyu shoots forward and catches Jihoon in a kiss. That’s what Jihoon’s thinking when he takes that sharp jaw in both hands, pressing back into the kiss, gasping when Mingyu licks deep into his mouth. It’s an unabashed clash of teeth and lips, making up for the past year and a half that they’ve kept to themselves, behaved like they should. Mingyu grabs his waist so hard Jihoon hisses in it, back arching, but he keeps leaning into him, more and more until he’s practically straddling Mingyu’s lap. 

Then Mingyu breaks the kiss, jumps up onto his feet and grabs Jihoon’s forearm. He pulls him up onto his feet, Jihoon following pliantly — and Jihoon can’t explain it in any way other than Mingyu basically dragging him across the yard, around to the side of the complex where none of the stragglers can see them. Jihoon feels the breath get knocked out of him when Mingyu shoves him up against the brick, doesn’t have time to process it before they’re kissing again, rough, desperate, Jihoon clinging to his back. 

Clinging to him like he’ll fall if he lets go. Like — 

Jihoon’s already rock hard in his Nike joggers. And Mingyu’s got a leg shoved between Jihoon’s, his thigh grinding up against his erection and making Jihoon whimper into his mouth. And Jihoon is so hot from the alcohol and the weed and the jean jacket and Mingyu’s large body trapping him right there, against the wall, like it takes no effort at all. Holy shit, Jihoon’s so fucking hard. He ruts up against Mingyu’s thigh, can barely contain the way he _whines_ into the kiss, a high, needy sound that sounds so foreign in his ears. That came from him. 

That’s him moaning when Mingyu moves to suck kisses into the sensitive skin of his neck, that’s him gasping and whining and humping Mingyu’s leg like he’s fucking desperate for it. Jihoon’s sweating now, his skin tingling, and when he bares his neck, Mingyu sucks more kisses down the long line of his throat. Christ — Jihoon can come from that alone; and he almost does, right in his fucking pants, when Mingyu bites down into the crook of his neck, not hard enough to break skin but enough to bruise. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jihoon gasps, back involuntarily arching, seeking more more more. 

Mingyu pulls back, and through the tears and arousal, Jihoon can see the way Mingyu’s pupils are blown wide, his face flushed pink, mouth wet and red from kissing so roughly. And Mingyu meets his stare, whispers, “Don’t bust a load in your pants,” reading Jihoon’s mind because they’re best friends and Mingyu’s got, like, mind-reading abilities where Jihoon’s concerned. 

Jihoon breathes a laugh, only for it to turn into a choked noise when Mingyu shoves a hand down the front of Jihoon’s joggers, into his briefs, right where his cock is leaking so much precum it’s staining the fabric. 

Then — don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it. Jihoon’s probably got mind-reading abilities of his own, specific for Kim Mingyu, because he can hear him say it right before he does; he hears it before Mingyu looks him in the eyes, expression hungry and aroused, and says, “ _God, you’re so wet_.” 

That does it. Mingyu’s big, warm hand around the base of his dick, Jihoon leans his head back onto the side of the apartment building and comes in whiny, thick spurts. Comes so hard he goes quiet, body clenched, eyes closed tight. 

Fuck. It’s dangerous how good that felt, feels. Jihoon’s still trying to come down from his orgasm when Mingyu frees his own erection from his jeans, presses his face into Jihoon’s neck as he hurriedly jerks himself off with his cum-slick hand. A few strokes in, Mingyu grabs one of Jihoon’s hands and closes his fist around the wet, red-flushed head of his cock, holds it there as he fucks up into it. “Shit, Jihoon, shit, shit, feels so fucking good…” 

Mingyu’s voice sounds so much deeper when he’s horny. If Jihoon hadn’t just come in his pants, he’d be half mast again. But he did, so he doesn’t, but Jihoon regains part of his brain, the part that tells him to tighten his grip around Mingyu’s dick, eliciting a low, longer groan from Mingyu. His thrusts start to fall out of rhythm, hips stuttering, and Mingyu tightens his grip around Jihoon’s fist, gasps, “Fuck, I’m gonna come. Gonna come — “ 

A warm splatter of cum paints Jihoon’s hand when Mingyu stills, panting into the skin of his throat. Jihoon, eyes remaining closed, listens to the chorus of their breaths, the distant thump of music from inside the apartment above. It’s a brief moment of peace, a moment that Jihoon knows is the calm before the storm. 

So. Yeah. They’re definitely degenerates. 

There’s an unspoken agreement that this isn’t the right time to talk about it. They’re at a party with their friends and what feels like half the university, they have to go back inside and pretend they weren’t outside making out and giving each other hand jobs after they smoked, and Jihoon isn’t quite sure what he wants to say yet. His mind is a mess — his _pants_ are a mess of sticky, dried cum, fuck — and it’s partially due to the fact that he’s kinda high, kinda drunk, kinda wanting to do that again. 

The rest of the night goes as fine as it can with dried cum clumped in his pubic hair, but Jihoon’s paranoia gets the best of him. Whenever Jeonghan or Soonyoung or Minghao meets his eyes, he has a flash of irrational fear that they can see what he did in his pupils. Can see that Mingyu cheated on his girlfriend with him, that Jihoon got off to hearing them fuck, that he and Mingyu drove drunk and made out in a Wendy’s parking lot, that they tried cocaine once with a random woman they met in the back of a club, like a highlight reel of Lee Jihoon’s Worst Decisions. 

And yet Mingyu, the Kim Mingyu that fucked into Jihoon’s fist with abandon that very same night, looks as he always does: calm, unaffected, laughing and dancing and flashing those charming, sharp canines. 

* * *

Hah. Ha ha. Add this to the Wow That Party Was Crazy, Huh? list. Cheating Edition TM. 

He and Mingyu don’t get a chance to talk that night, because Jihoon snagged an uber to his own place, and everyone went their separate ways a few hours after midnight. Then Saturday was spent packing his things to go stay with his parents for a portion of the break. 

And Sunday. 

Well, Sunday morning is spent seeing Minghao off. He’s going to spend his break in his hometown in China, and the boys decided to stop by his place to spend some time with him before the uber takes him to the airport. 

It’s kinda funny — not in a ha-ha laugh out loud kinda way, but funny regardless — to see how sad Soonyoung looks about Minghao being out of the country for two weeks. Minghao ends up having to console Soonyoung, pulling him into a hug and rubbing his back, cooing, “There, there,” while biting back giggles. 

Jihoon stands an awkward distance away from Mingyu (awkward to him, at least), leaning on the back of living room couch, Hansol on one side of him, Jeonghan on the other. Mingyu is closest to the two hugging men, waiting patiently for his chance to hug Minghao. 

“Don’t disappear on us,” Soonyoung is whining. And, wow, okay, his face is actually turning a little red, a silent threat of tears. “Keep in touch. Send lots of pictures.” 

“You act like he’s going off to war,” Jeonghan says, crossing his arms. “It’s fourteen days, Soonyoung. One-four.” 

Hansol can’t hide the smile on his face when he says, “That’s the longest Soonyoung has been from his boyfriend since they moved in together.” 

“Shut up, you clowns,” Minghao waves them off, then leans back to look Soonyoung in the face. Voice softer, he says, “I’ll keep in touch. Everyday. We can video chat and you can see my mom and dad and the city. Okay?” 

Soonyoung actually starts crying now, but they’re silent tears that dampen his flushed cheeks. Minghao coos again, using his thumbs to wipe them away. “I’ll be back, Soonyoung, c’mon. Soonyoung.” 

Jeonghan tries to meet the eyes of every other man in the room, goes, “See what I’m talking about? Is this platonic to you guys or am I being culturally insensitive?” 

Hansol covers his face with one hand, ducking down to prevent anybody catching him laugh. If Mingyu hears him, he doesn’t react at all; he’s watching Minghao and Soonyoung with eyes that also look… kinda sad. Empathetic. Jihoon watches Mingyu watch them, would pay rent money to know what he’s thinking. 

“Okay,” Jeonghan grumbles. “I’m culturally insensitive, I guess.” 

Then Minghao’s uber is five minutes away, so they help carry his luggage out to the curb, each finally getting their chance to hug Minghao without Soonyoung intercepting. “Hope you have a kick ass time in China,” Hansol says, patting his back. 

“Eat lots of home-cooked food for me,” Jihoon tells him, watching Mingyu hug him next. 

Jeonghan takes his turn when Mingyu steps away. “Bye. See you in fourteen days.” Minghao thanks him, and then Jeonghan pulls back, one step away, says, “Really, though. Before your ride gets here — you and Soonyoung.” He briefly points to Soonyoung, who still looks miserable but is no longer actively shedding tears. “Can we talk about this?” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Minghao says to the uber app. 

Hansol starts fighting back more laughter, covers his face again. 

“I don’t get what’s so funny,” Minghao deadpans. “Soonyoung is…” He looks over Jeonghan’s shoulder at Soonyoung. “We’re, um.” 

“ _Not_ the gayest pair of straight guys I ever met?” Mingyu supplies with a raised eyebrow. 

Minghao doesn’t answer right away. That’s enough to get Jeonghan to light up, look hurriedly between Minghao and Soonyoung for a few times before laughing incredulously. “Really? _Really_? Oh my god. No way.” 

“Way to out them,” Jihoon says. His stomach is twisting in knots. He refuses to explore the cause of that. Nope. No way. He’s upset over Minghao leaving. But suddenly he can’t look at Mingyu, keeps his eyes trained on Minghao and Jeonghan instead. 

“You knew?” Jeonghan asks Jihoon. Then to Hansol, who can’t hold it in anymore and is straight up cackling. “ _You_ knew?” 

“Oh my god,” Minghao groans. His ears are a little red. “This isn’t some big revelation. No, no one ‘knew’ anything. There’s nothing to know!” 

Jeonghan keeps begging for answers, but, thank the lord, Minghao’s uber drives up. “Would you look at that,” Minghao cheers. “Gotta go!” He picks up his luggage, lets the driver help him situate them in the trunk. 

“You’re leaving poor Soonyoungie with Jeonghan,” Hansol says between giggles. “Fucked up, dude.” 

“Well!” Minghao says, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “It’s not like I asked for this! Jeonghan is a nosy fuck and I didn’t wanna lie!” He fixes Jeonghan with a look. “Please don’t harass Soonyoung. He has a right to privacy.” He starts to back up into the passenger seat of the car. “Promise me, you clown.” 

“Privacy!?” Jeonghan retorts. “I thought we were all friends? This is a huge thing to hide from the group, dude. You don’t trust us?” 

Oh, god. Now Jihoon is _really_ gonna be sick. And Mingyu is dead silent to his left, out of his periphery. 

Minghao gets into the car, but rolls the window down. “We can talk about it when I get back, okay? Leave Soonyoung alone.” He sticks his head out to look at Soonyoung. “Text me.” 

Soonyoung nods, eyes red-rimmed. 

And then Minghao is off. Jeonghan waits until the car is out of sight before he whips around to gape at the remaining men. “I am _so_ confused. There’s a couple in our group? And I didn’t know? They were being all cuddly at the party Friday night, but I thought that was, like, them! I feel weak.” 

“Half of ‘them’ is still here, douchebag,” Soonyoung finally has the voice to say. “We’re done here. He’s gone. Goodbye.” He storms off and into the apartment before anybody can protest. 

Hansol shoots Jeonghan an exaggerated angry look. “You upset him, dude. Shame on you.” 

Jeonghan presses the back of his hand to his forehead as if he’s going to faint. “I can’t believe this. What other secrets are hiding in this group?” 

There’s a few seconds of uncomfortable silence until Jeonghan looks at Mingyu and Jihoon. Jihoon feels his heart jump into his throat. “You two have been _very_ quiet since this revelation. Did you guys know about this or something?” 

Jihoon can’t speak with his heart in his esophagus. Thankfully, Mingyu opens his mouth to say, “We didn’t… but I don’t know why it’s so shocking to you. It makes sense, if you think about it.” 

“True,” Hansol says. “Let’s give Soonyoung some space for now, though. He’s already upset about Minghao leaving, and now this.” 

If this has Jeonghan in a tizzy, Jihoon thinks, then _boy_ , if he ever hears about Wow That Party Was Crazy, Huh? Ver. 1 and 2. And everything in between. 

* * *

Jihoon follows Mingyu to his car. While Jeonghan was busy going back and forth with Hansol, he tugged at Mingyu’s sleeve, asked, “Can we talk real fast?” when he looked down at him. 

Mingyu gets settled in the driver’s seat, Jihoon sliding into the passenger. Neither put their seat belt on. Mingyu turns the key once in the ignition, the air conditioning whirring to life when he does. 

Okay. OK. Alright. Jihoon rubs his suddenly-sweaty palms on his black basketball shorts, squirms to find a comfortable position in the leather seat. There is none. Cool. Here goes nothing. Here goes the conversation they needed to have years ago. Here goes — 

“What I did,” Mingyu starts, instantly knocks the wind out of Jihoon’s sails. “Wasn’t right. I know. Both of them.” 

It doesn’t take Jihoon long to figure out what ‘both of them’ entails. Right. Jihoon gives a jolted nod of acknowledgement when he feels Mingyu turn to look at him. 

“I’m an asshole and Chaeyeon doesn’t deserve this,” Mingyu continues. His voice cracks a little, tightens Jihoon’s chest. “I should probably break up with her.” 

“Don’t,” Jihoon interjects, raising a hand. “Don’t do that. Unless you want to, of course. But — not because of me.” 

“It’d be because of me,” Mingyu says. “Not you.” 

“ _We_ did it.” Jihoon gathers the courage to look into Mingyu’s eyes. Dark, solemn eyes. “We do a lot of stupid shit. If only Jeonghan knew all the things we’ve done when they weren’t around.” 

Both men laugh dryly. The air conditioner whirs. 

“But. But don’t break up with Chaeyeon over this. Let’s just… let’s move on. Start over.” Whatever that means. They’ve been doing this song and dance since they were teenagers — it’s all they know. It’s all Jihoon’s brain reminds him of in quiet moments. 

He knows Mingyu feels it, too, the way he keeps staring at Jihoon with those fucking puppy dog eyes that melts Jihoon’s heart a little. 

“You’re my best friend,” Jihoon keeps on. His throat is getting tight, and — fuck — is he going to cry? Has Soonyoung rubbed off on him? This isn’t good. Mingyu knows him too well; he can’t hide it. “We’ll move forward. No more dumb shit. No more… no more secrets we have to keep. Okay?” He swallows hard over the lump, raises a shaky pinky finger. 

Mingyu doesn’t respond right away. He keeps fucking looking, soul-searching, and Jihoon is getting sweatier and more worried the longer Mingyu stares, because he knows, he fucking knows, he can see it on every inch of his body, he _always_ knew, maybe, because Jihoon wears his every emotion, in subtle ways that only Mingyu can pick up on because they’re best friends and Mingyu’s a Lee Jihoon mind-reader, and, fuck, he can see the phantom words on Jihoon’s lips, saw it all along — the _I love you_. 

And. 

Mingyu hooks his pinky finger with Jihoon’s, squeezing. Eyes still dark, solemn, he tries at a smile. “No more secrets.”


End file.
